#rambling is my favorite pastime

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@beakaleak32

That is truly one of the worst things to tell someone with anxiety because it makes you think that everyone has the same sense of humor (they don't) and it only makes the anxiety worse because then (if you're like me) you stop talking to people. I'm sorry that happened to you! The tactic I employ is probably using "lol" too much so people know I'm kidding 😅, but I do completely understand!

"Following the plot bunnies" 🤣 that is so true!! I'm just trying to drive down the road of my plot, but each time I get distracted by the giant billboards that advertises "worlds biggest ball of yarn" so I veer off and even though I'm there for the yarn I realize I'm thirsty so I get a lemonade, but then my shoe is untied.... Basically it's like that book "When you give a mouse a cookie" but worse lol.

And yay! Okay I'll add you to the taglist 🥰

It's alright plug away. I name dropped my other series lol. But I love anxious readers so I'll be sure to check out Weighted!

I hope you have a wonderful day too sweetie 🤗

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested by: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary:  When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 

No man his age should look that good. 

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 

You were always distracted by him. 

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 

But you liked your job… sometimes. 

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

“What?” You ask him. 

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced. 

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously. 

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. 

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 

“Fine.” Ben states. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Keep it together… 

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

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@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

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[spectralarrovv]

and we’re back

[impactdial]

thinking of some sanuso angst where sanji is put under the influence of a plant that usopp finds/cultivates where he can only speak the truth. initial hilarity ensues where sanji involuntarily admits out loud that he respects zoro, he's too tired to make the ladies their evening drinks, etc. so sanji knows something is up and it terrifies him.

so he throws himself into trying to cure himself, all the while avoiding usopp at every turn because he's afraid he's going to say something incredibly embarrassing that he won't be able to take back (because even in his deepest denial, he knows he loves usopp. he knows it, and it scares him so bad and what if he ruins everything between them if he lets something slip).

and, of course, usopp notices sanji's strange behavior and he's hurt by sanji's sudden absence. he won't banter with usopp in their typical way. he still protects him during a fight, but won't say anything, won't even chide usopp for doing something reckless on his own, won't even respond when he brings usopp a snack and a pot of coffee during his night watch shift. it eats usopp up terribly, and sanji knows it does because he's the one that can read usopp too well, notice things that the sniper tries to hide, because of course he does.

and then it finally happens. usopp gets more than a little banged up in a fight. nothing too serious, but he's looking pretty ragged. clothes shredded, covered in bruises and his own blood, his hair mussed up. sanji comes to his rescue, staying with him and holding him up as someone gets chopper's attention. usopp tries to defuse the tension and makes a joke about how he's sure he's looked worse, and even makes a self deprecating joke about how it doesn't matter anyway since he's never been good looking to begin with.

he can't recognize the pained expression sanji's making, suddenly holding him a bit too tight, but he decides he doesn't like it. he looks at usopp with watery eyes and before either of them know it, sanji's already said it.

"usopp, you're beautiful."

before they can even pick apart the moment between them, it's over. chopper is fussing over usopp as the strawhats regroup. sanji's gone strangely pale and limp so zoro carries usopp back to the ship. even usopp's gone uncharacteristically quiet, just clinging to zoro's neck as the exhaustion overtakes him.

[markantonys]

wotseries did a little article about the south africa filming which apparently officially started today, and there's nothing crazy in it but i'm so desperate for crumbs that i'm bringing the little tidbits i found interesting to you all!

they speculate filming will last about 2 months

they speculate some tanchico scenes may be filmed here as well as aiel waste scenes

crew members spotted include people associated with all of the season's directors (block 1&4, block 2, and block 3). which might mean the waste scenes (and/or possibly tanchico scenes) start as early as 3x01/2 and/or span as late as 3x07/8 (the director for blocks 1&4 is the same, so we can't say for sure whether they're there for both blocks or just one of them). wotseries does specifically say they believe they may be filming for material as early as 3x02.

they are confident that rosamund pike, daniel henney, madeleine madden, ayoola smart, and josha stradowski are involved in the filming. (actually, they said they were confident about the first 4 and assumed josha was also there since rand yknow has to be there, but i'm 99.9999% sure josha mentioned being part of this filming in the december interviews, so i'm confident.) so it does sound like exclusively the waste crew right now, and thus i'll take the tanchico speculation with a grain of salt, although of course it could be that there are tanchico scenes that are scheduled for later in the shoot and those actors may arrive at a later date.

now for some of my mini musings! first, season filming length. this would put s3 filming at april 2023-april 2024. s2 filmed july 2021-may 2022 and started airing in september 2023. the s2 film end date-air date gap would put s3 at august 2025, while the s1-s2 air gap (1 year 10 months) would put s3 at july 2025. could be we're looking at summer 2025, or could be that amazon wants to alternate septembers with ROP and will put WOT s3 at september 2025, or could be they want and are able to start getting seasons out a bit more quickly and are hoping for spring 2025. who knows! i'll be very curious to learn ROP s2's release date and potentially get a sense whether alternating septembers is their plan or whether they're aiming to start having a fantasy season out every 8-10 months instead of every 12.

second, The Mat Question, given the recent rumor that mat will be part of the tanchico plotline. donal is starring in hadestown which is happening right now, so he's obviously not involved in this filming - at least yet. possibilities are:

a) most/all of the filming is for the waste, and mat is not part of that plotline at all

b) mat is part of the waste plotline in some capacity, but all his scenes were already filmed in the studio and donal doesn't need to participate in the south africa shoot

c) donal does need to participate in a portion of the south africa shoot and an understudy will take over his part in hadestown for a bit while he's doing that (i know nothing about how long-running theater productions work, so i have no idea whether or not it's likely that he would take a theater job or be hired for a theater job if he already knew he wouldn't be available for a chunk of its run)

i don't really have any guesses at all here. mat is destined to be the most mysterious and hard-to-predict character of every season!

third, i'm thrilled to have unofficial confirmation that madeleine is part of this filming and i hope to soon see an end to the "egwene will go back to the tower instead of accompanying rand & co straight to the waste from falme" nonsense haha

fourth, the potential timeframe of the waste plotline. that it spans episodes 3-6 is totally unsurprising, so it's the bookend blocks i'm most curious about. arriving at the waste in 3x02 makes sense to me - this would give them a whole episode with the gang together in falme, and then everyone can split up to head off on their trips. there's also a bit of a possibility that the suspected 3x02 material could be just the end of the episode, and rand's group spends most of the episode in a different place such as caemlyn (a theory i love very much and will hold onto as long as i possibly can!). i thiiiiiink previous leaks placed rand's rhuidean visions in block 2, and in the books the rhuidean trip is just about the first thing they do upon arriving in the waste, so it could be that their arrival is sorta like the 3x02 cliffhanger and then we dive into rhuidean and such in 3x03.

then for block 4. again, we don't know for sure whether this director is here for anything to do with block 4 or only for block 1, so this might be a moot point. but the potential block 4 i can think of for rand's plotline is either a) they're still in the waste all the way through 3x08 as in TSR, or b) they leave the waste sometime in 3x07/8 and go to either cairhien or tear for a big battle. option B would probably still involve some waste scenes in this block even if they ultimately end in a different location, so i don't even know why i'm bringing up anything to do with block 4 because we're no closer to guessing the location of rand's crew by the end of 3x08 than we were before!

[retrobr]

sometimes you just have to come up with the most heartbreaking au for your favorite ship that makes you cry at night to keep your mental state stable

[fallengalaxy]

My favorite pictures that use taken, some are altered by the phones little enhancement thing but I'll post originals at the end

Unedited Photos

[papermint-airplane]

Me: Hey Google what's the temperature today?

Google Assistant: At your location, it's 88 degrees Fahrenheit

Me: Ok th--

Google Assistant: But with the current humidity level, it feels like 503 :)

[anomaly-beans]

Now that we have some new eye types in flight rising, I'm glancing over at the faded eyes and then over at my modern dragon version of my oc Merry. The dulled down colors...

I've had the headcanon that when my FL version of Merry lost their soul that it dulled the color of their eyes and took away some of the light in them. Literal definition of "soulless eyes".

So... I'm tempted to get an eye vial. Just to be evil to dragon Merry...

[bulletbilltime]

Pokémon headcanons for the Bloom & Rage band

Swann: 100% a grass type trainer. I can see her really loving mushroom Pokémon in particular. Twiglet makes me think she might like bug types as well, so I feel like Paras would be a perfect main for her. (To Autumn's dismay lol). Sprigatito could also be a great fit for her, given how much she loves her cat.

Kat: I think her interest in the Abyss and occult practices like the blood ritual could lean towards Ghost or Psychic types. I could also see her befriending a Stantler named Gertie (idr if that's the right name) from her father's ranch. (Though this has pretty dark implications that Pokémon hunting is a thing. Though maybe it's just hunting as in Pokémon capture?)

Nora: I could see being electric type bc she's energetic (with either a Jolteon or a Zebstrika as her main? I think she'd love smth with jagged edges lol)

Autumn: Might prefer normal types? I don't see her being into weirder/grosser Pokémon, so I feel like she'd like cuter animal-like Pokémon. I don't remember as much about her, but I feel like she mentioned liking dogs at one point, so maybe a Lillipup? I'll have to get back to you on that one.

Open to suggestions for any of them! Not super set on most of these atm (except for Swann's Paras and Kat's Stantler), but maybe once I replay it'll be more clear in my mind lol

[cheesyscumbag]

My favorite hobby is spending hours sprawled out on the floor with a heated blanket; blasting music into my already decimated ear drums until I fall asleep.

It’s the most homie, and peaceful thing I think I’ll ever experience.

[dinosaursknowwhatimtalkingabout]

One of my favorite pastimes is playing Skyrim. But when I played Skyrim in the past I was like 7-8, so all I did was pick stuff up and take it to my room at the inn at the first village. I did this multiple times, untill I eventually broke the game with how much stuff I put in the tiny room. Then I promptly quit the game.

[pucksandpower]

I’m Gonna Wife You Up

Max Verstappen x best friend!Reader

Summary: in which your best friend wins his first World Drivers’ Championship, proposes through text, and confesses his feelings for you … in that order

It’s just after 2 am when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You groan and roll over, squinting at the bright screen. A new text from Max. You can’t help but smile as you open it.

Ik im drunk but listen

Im gonna wife you up one day

Thats all

Good night

You laugh out loud at the drunken confession, shaking your head fondly. Leave it to Max to make even his most romantic statements sound completely ridiculous.

The two of you have been inseparable since you were kids racing in karts together. As his career skyrocketed into Formula 1 and global fame, you were always there by his side as his best friend and perpetual voice of reason.

Well, most of the time anyway.

As you type out a teasing response, another text comes through.

Wait no

Im coming over

You barely have time to process it before your phone starts ringing, Max’s goofy grinning face flashing on the screen. You accept the FaceTime call and he immediately starts rambling.

“Y/N! Y/N listen. I just won the fucking World Championship! Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can actually,” you chuckle. “I was there, remember? Sitting right in the garage.”

“Of course you were! You’re always there,” he slurs, words running together. “My biggest supporter. My good luck charm.”

“I think you might be overestimating my involvement a tad there, buddy.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No way. I couldn’t do any of this without you, y’know? All those years of you kicking my ass in the karts, pushing me to be better ...”

You scoff. “Oh please, you were always the better driver. I just got a head start.”

“That has nothing to do with it! You’re just crazy talented. Why d’you think I’ve kept you around all these years?”

“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Drunken banter with Max is one of your favorite pastimes.

Suddenly, there’s a loud banging on your door. You jump, staring at it in confusion.

“Y/N? Y/N you home?” Max’s muffled voice calls from the other side.

You glance back at your phone to see he’s now wandering down the hallway, FaceTiming you from outside your hotel room. Of course the idiot wouldn’t think to simply text you a heads up.

“Max! I’ll be right there, just stay put for once in your life.”

You hurry to the door and swing it open. There he is, leaning against the wall in a rumpled dress shirt and loosened tie, phone raised as he grins at you proudly. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your own face at the sight of your best friend, for once totally carefree after years of endless pressure and scrutiny.

“Hey champ,” you tease, stepping aside so he can stumble into your living room. “Need me to give you a hand there?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” He waves you off, somehow managing to trip over his own feet and crash onto your couch. You wince as he lets out a groan.

“Yeah, you seem totally fine.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles petulantly, making you laugh.

You move to stand over him, arms crossed as you drink in the sight. His dress shirt is untucked and half unbuttoned, tie completely askew. His carefully styled hair is now a tousled mess, a few stray strands falling over his bright eyes. Despite his drunken state, an almost giddy smile plays at his lips.

“What?” He asks, catching your fond gaze.

You shake your head. “Nothing, I’m just … I’m really proud of you, Max.”

His grin widens and he grabs your hand, tugging you down to sit beside him on the couch. “I did it, didn’t I? I actually fucking did it!”

“You did.” You squeeze his hand, hardly believing it yourself. “World Champion at just 24 years old. You deserve this so much.”

He sobers a bit, blue eyes shining intensely as he holds your gaze. “I couldn’t have done it without you though. You’ve been there every step of the way. Through all the good times and the bad ...”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

“No, shhh. Let me say this.” He takes a deep breath, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “You … you always believed in me. No matter what. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, even when everyone was writing me off and calling me arrogant or reckless … you were always there to pick me up and set me straight.”

His gaze drops briefly before locking with yours again. “You don’t know what that means to me, Y/N. To have someone like that, someone who’s always got your back no matter what. Who calls you on your bullshit but also hypes you up more than anyone. I honestly don’t know if I’d be here without you.”

Your throat feels tight as you blink back unexpected tears. You’ve never seen Max be this open and vulnerable before. You reach up impulsively to brush that stray lock of hair from his forehead, making him catch his breath.

In a burst of uncharacteristic boldness, you decide to be just as honest with him. “Max … you have to know how I feel about you after all these years. How much you mean to me.”

He swallows hard, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment. “Then show me.”

You search his gaze, trying to gauge if this is really what he wants, if he’ll regret this in the morning when he’s sober. But beneath the alcohol-induced haze, you see only sincerity and a longing you’ve secretly shared for so long.

So you lean in slowly, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palm as your lips finally meet his in a kiss you’ve dreamed about for years. It starts soft and tentative, exploring each other in this new territory. But it doesn’t take long for the heat to rise between you, years of built up tension boiling over.

His hands come up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he angles his head for deeper access. You let out a soft whimper against his lips, reveling in the feeling of finally having Max like this, all yours. He inhales sharply at the sound, like he can’t quite believe this is real either.

You pour everything into that kiss — your friendship, your inside jokes, and countless shared memories. All the pride and protectiveness, the unspoken words you’ve held back for so long.

And Max gives it all right back to you tenfold, kissing you with an undeniable hunger and passion reflective of the fierce determination that’s shaped him into a World Champion.

When you finally have to break apart for air, you’re both panting softly, chests heaving. Max rests his forehead against yours, eyes shining with an unmistakable tenderness.

“I meant what I said, y’know?” His voice is low and gravelly. “I really am gonna wife you up one day.”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling deliriously happy and overwhelmed all at once. Only Max could make a drunken proclamation like that somehow sound so sweet and natural.

“Is that a promise?” You murmur against his lips.

He captures them in another searing kiss, sending tingles down your spine.

“It’s a goddamn certainty, schatje.”

Max wastes no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore your mouth hungrily. A low groan rumbles in his chest as your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

“Max ...” you breathe out between heated kisses. “We should … move this … to the bedroom.”

He answers by nipping at your bottom lip teasingly before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.

“Bed … good idea ...” he mumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you shiver.

Before you can protest further, Max is clumsily maneuvering to straddle your lap on the couch, never breaking the fevered kiss. You can’t help but giggle at his drunken lack of coordination as he nearly topples the both of you to the floor.

“Smooth moves there, champ,” you quip breathlessly.

He leans back with a devilish smirk, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “You know me, schatje. I’m a regular Casanova.”

You snort at that. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

His grin widening, Max suddenly lurches forward to blow a raspberry right on your neck, making you squeal with laughter.

“Max! You’re too drunk for this, you idiot.”

“Never too drunk for you,” he husks in that low, rumbly tone that sends tingles down your spine.

Before you can formulate a response, his nimble fingers are stumbling through undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric aside to bare his toned chest to your roaming gaze. You can’t resist reaching out to run your palms over the skin, relishing in the firm muscle and light sprinkling of hair.

Max’s eyes slip closed, head falling back slightly as he savors your touch. “That’s it … been waiting for your hands on me for years.”

You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how real this is, how you’re both finally crossing that line after harboring secret feelings for one another for so long. Before you can overthink it, Max is tugging insistently at the hem of your t-shirt.

Meeting his heated gaze, you raise your arms obediently to allow him to undress you. His hooded eyes darken further as more of your skin is slowly revealed to him, lingering reverently on your body in a way that makes your cheeks flush. You’ve never felt so wanted, so desired.

Once your shirt is tossed carelessly aside, Max leans in to capture your lips in another smoldering kiss, hands roaming across the newly exposed skin of your lower back and sides. You sigh into his mouth, arching shamelessly into his touch like you’ve been craving for ages.

In one fluid motion, Max hooks his arms beneath your thighs and stands from the couch, your legs instinctively winding around his waist as he hauls you up against his chest. You can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you, breaking the kiss.

“Max! What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed, of course,” he rumbles, already stumbling in the direction of your bedroom. “Can’t very well have my way with you on that tiny couch, can I?”

You shake your head at his forwardness, kissing along the sharp line of his jaw. “Is that so? And just what did you have in mind for this bed of mine, Mr. Verstappen?”

He shivers at your teasing tone, finally reaching the edge of your mattress and unceremoniously tumbling you both down onto the plush comforter. You let out a rather undignified squeak as Max lands half on top of you, quickly rolling to pin you beneath him.

Any snarky remarks you may have prepared immediately die on your lips when you take in his appearance — shirtless and slightly disheveled, those incredible eyes dark with undisguised want, pink lips parted enticingly. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

“You really wanna know what I have in mind?” Max’s voice is low and husky, making something deep within you tighten with anticipation. He leans down to trail scorching kisses along the sensitive column of your throat. “I’m gonna take my time exploring every single inch of you, liefje. Mapping out all those gorgeous curves of yours ...”

He punctuates the words by rolling his hips firmly against yours, allowing you to feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your core. You can’t stop the whimpery moan that falls from your lips at the delicious friction.

Max grins wickedly against your neck. “That’s it, make more of those pretty sounds for me ...”

You tangle your fingers in his tousled hair to tug his mouth back to yours, unable to resist tasting him again. The kiss quickly turns heated and desperate, all tongue and teeth, both of you pouring out years of built up longing. Your hands roam feverishly across the broad expanse of Max’s back, committing every ridge and plane of muscle to memory.

Growing impatient, you begin tugging impatiently at Max’s belt buckle and zipper, making him break away with a breathy chuckle.

“Fuck, you’re eager tonight, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back cheekily, finally popping open the button and shoving his jeans down over his narrow hips. “Pretty sure you proposed to me, like, thirty seconds after our first kiss.”

He sobers somewhat at that, eyes shining with sincerity as he holds your gaze. “I meant that. I really do want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest at his words, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “Max ...”

He cuts you off by capturing your lips in another bruising kiss, effectively robbing you of coherent thought. When he rocks his hips again, you realize with a start that the last shred of his clothing has disappeared at some point during your heated exchange.

You break away with a shaky gasp, drinking in the sight of his fully naked form above you. Despite having seen him undressed countless times in a purely platonic context — in his driver’s rooms before races, passing showers when staying over at his apartment, that one incredibly awkward encounter in the Red Bull cold tub after the Singapore Grand Prix earlier this year — you’ve never truly taken the time to appreciate Max like this, to openly admire his body and all its lean lines and toned muscle definition.

“See something you like?” His teasing lilt snaps you out of your dazed reverie.

Cheeks flushing hotly, you lick your lips unconsciously before nodding slowly. “Very much so.”

His gravelly chuckle makes something low in your belly stir. “Then let’s get you out of these.”

Max tugs at the waistband of your leggings, helping to shimmy them down your legs and tossing them carelessly aside. You instinctively move to cover yourself with your arms, suddenly feeling very exposed. But Max just shakes his head slowly, emerald eyes raking over your body with naked reverence.

“Don’t,” he murmurs huskily, gently pulling your arms away. “You’re fucking stunning, every last inch of you.”

His worshipful tone makes you feel beautiful and powerful in a way you never have before. You keep your eyes locked on his, feeling utterly weightless as Max leans down to trail hot, open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. He takes his time exploring and tasting every inch of newly uncovered skin, relishing in the breathy whimpers and moans he draws from you freely.

But as his mouth moves lower, lavishing attention on the soft curves of your belly and hips, you begin to notice a subtle change. His movements are growing slower, more sluggish, those previously sharp nips and licks turning sloppier.

And when you tangle your fingers in his tousled hair to provide some gentle guidance, Max lets out a long, low grumble of contentment … followed swiftly by a rumbling snore.

You blink down at him in surprise, hardly able to believe it. This absolute idiot, this drunken oaf of a World Champion … has fallen straight to sleep on top of you, fully nude and still nestled between your parted thighs.

A burst of laughter bubbles up from your chest, loud and borderline hysterical. You shake your head slowly at the ridiculousness of it all, hardly caring that the moment has been completely ruined.

Because somehow, of course this would happen to you. Only Max could seduce you to within an inch of your life before passing out entirely mid-foreplay.

Typical.

Still, you can’t quite smother your fond smile as you gaze down at his slack, boyishly handsome features, completely relaxed in peaceful slumber. Even sloshed and wasted, he looks almost unbearably sweet like this — finally free of the perpetual weight of stress and pressure he usually carries on those strong shoulders.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur affectionately, smoothing back the tousled chestnut strands from his forehead. “Only you could make me go this disgustingly gooey, even when you’re being a drunken mess.”

With a rueful shake of your head, you began the arduous task of gently maneuvering Max to roll off of you and onto his back beside you on the bed. He lets out a disgruntled grumble at the movement, snuffling adorably into the pillows as you tug the comforter up over his naked form.

Once he seems as settled and comfortable as he’s likely to get, you study his slumbering features for another lingering moment. God, he really is beautiful, inside and out. And he’s all yours now, in a way you’ve only dreamed of for years.

Smiling to yourself, you scoot closer until you’re nestled against his side, head pillowed on his muscular chest. You revel in the feeling of Max’s strong arms instinctively wrapping around you, holding you close even in sleep.

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes drift closed, safe in the knowledge that you’ll be able to wake up like this tomorrow — and hopefully every day after that for the rest of your lives.

Just before slipping into peaceful dreams yourself, you can’t resist pressing one last featherlight kiss to the hollow of Max’s throat.

“I love you, my World Champion,” you whisper against his skin.

Max just smiles that brilliant sunny grin in his sleep, pulling you tighter against him. And really, that’s all the answer you’ll ever need.

[tadbitsketch]

ooooh i love this theory sm

and if i may add on a little... what if jack had to choose between escaping the sea temple and trying to save vos?

think about jack's character. he's kind of a wandering warrior type, trained all over the world, used to have friends, that sort of thing.

what do you think would motivate him to try and become strong like that?

his best friends dying, that's what.

he thinks he could've saved them both, if he'd just been stronger. faster. smarter. better.

jack saw vos still alive when he left, probably in some kind of a fight that jack knew he couldn't get involved in without dying.

so jack willingly chose to leave his friend for dead, because vos would've died no matter what. and then he had to live with that for years upon years. he trains all over the world so that if he has to make that choice again, he won't leave someone for dead.

and then one day, two young, bright adventurers walk into jack's map shop, one of them being the mayor of town, wearing the dang gauntlet that got you into that mess, all those years ago.

at the sea temple, jack discovers that vos is actually alive! he really had survivedfor a that time, even after jack left him :D

would be such a shame if that wasn't really vos though.. :)

Reasons why I firmly believe Vos didn’t perish initially in the Sea Temple and instead survived (if even for a short while) inside: This is going to be a rant so bear with me…

The subtle hints in the game dialogue reveal a lot despite us never finding his inventory or concrete evidence suggesting how Vos died:

1) In the emporium when you first consult Jack about going to the Sea Temple, he mentions his friends Vos and Sammy were killed during the first adventure. He doesn’t explicitly state he saw them both die, just that “neither of them made it out alive.” (More on this in 2)

2) After freeing ‘Vos’ in the temple, Jack seems more excited than confused that his buddy is alive. In fact, Jack asks him no questions. (I can dismiss that as Jesse needing the dialogue options, but Jack’s lack of suspicion is either because Vos had an ambiguous death or he’s in denial that his friend is dead.) Jesse mentions to ‘Vos’ that “Jack said he saw you die.” But from all the game dialogue I’ve seen, Jack never says he saw that.

Full Quotes:

3) “Whatever’s left of Vos must be somewhere down here too…” -Jack after picking up Sammy’s inventory in the Sea Temple

He says “somewhere.” Almost as if he’s not even sure where his other friend died. Huh, kind of like he didn’t see it…

Yes I know that upon entering the guardian room of the temple, he says that everything is a blur, but after picking up one of your friend’s inventories, wouldn’t memories come flooding back? I feel like that would have been a crucial memory even if it was repressed.

Side note: It’s kind of weird he doesn’t go looking for Vos’ inventory. Idk if this is because he genuinely doesn’t know where it is or because he’s so distraught after finding Sammy’s inventory that he needs some time to think before he can handle seeing Vos’ as well.

4) “I thought you were a goner, man!” -Jack to ‘Vos’

Note how he says “thought.” What happened that made you think he died? Because seeing him die wouldn’t merely leave you thinking your friend died. You would be 100% sure-

Jack doesn’t say “I saw you die!” Or “How did you survive (insert whatever killed him)?”

5) “The real Vos would never have survived in my Sea Temple that long!” -Romeo post-reveal

HE. SAYS. “SURVIVED.” That’s a weird thing to say if Vos had really died initially along with Sammy.

He doesn’t say anything like: “You really thought I was your friend? After you watched him perish?” or something implying Jack saw it occur. Because knowing Romeo, he would absolutely jab at a blunder like that and belittle Jack for believing his disguise after seeing his friend die.

So, yeah. Our favorite sea temple adventurer lived in that death trap of a Brita filter for Admin knows how long until his eventual death by… starvation? Temple traps? Both? Maybe the guardians still killed him but later? My main guesses are he got trapped in the obsidian cages, or separated from Jack while they were escaping. Either way, Jack accidentally abandoned him after thinking he was killed. Such a shame we never find his inventory pile or anything because that would answer so many of my questions- Romeo give back Vos’ inventory challenge (impossible.) I know you have it.

Idk if we’ll ever know what actually happened but here’s my ten cents. ^^ I am so very mentally well as of now. Thank you for coming to my TellTalk /j

[ddejavvu]

OMG SPENCER REUNITING WITH HIS POPULAR! HS CRUSH.

disclaimer: both characters are well over 18 years of age, but it's mentioned that they knew each other when their age gap was of significance as spencer was young for a high school student.

Spencer's not surprised his face doesn't jog your memory- after all, 11 looks very different than 29. But 18 years later, and you're standing in front of him, 34, your brows wrinkled ever-so-slightly in the middle as you process his name.

"Are you-" You start, realization dawning on you as you stand before the team of FBI agents, "Oh my god, are you the Spencer Reid that went to my high school? The genius kid?"

"That was me," His mouth flattens in an awkward grin, and your eyes light up. Prentiss and Morgan's eyes do the same, but Reid is pointedly ignoring them.

"Wow," You gush, "You helped me pass my physics exam! Oh my god, thank you, I wouldn't have graduated if it weren't for you."

"You're a fast learner," Spencer deflects, even if it's untrue. He'd spent hours coaching you on physics principles, but he didn't mind as it gave him more time to sit with you.

"You remember me!" You marvel, nervousness at the looming threat of your stalker momentarily gone, "I can't believe you're an FBI agent, that's so cool. Actually- I can totally believe that. But still! So cool."

"It's not as glamorous as it might seem on television," Spencer begins, but Derek stops his ramble short with a broad hand to the center of Reid's sweater-vest-clad chest.

"Don't listen to Pretty Boy. It's super cool- you should see him fire a gun. He's a great shot," He lies through his teeth, and Spencer's never understood the significance of the term bro until right this moment, "He's really good at kicking down doors, too."

"Woah," Your eyes glimmer, and Spencer's thighs ache just thinking about partaking in Morgan's favorite pastime, "So are you gonna be, like, my bodyguard until this guy's caught?"

"Oh, yes he is," Prentiss nods, her grin bright as she shoves Spencer forwards, "From now until that creep is locked away, Reid's gonna be glued to your side, Y/N."

[balteringanatidae]

Everybody Here Wants You

pairing: spencer reid x fem leaning!reader word count: 0.4k (suuuuper short n sweet) contents: title taken from a jeff buckley song, self indulgent sorrryyy, nsfw maybe kinda idk, VERY suggestive! some kinky mentions whoops. very fluffy too :3 could probs be read as gender neutral! reader, reader wears lipstick <3

This evening had been undoubtedly eventful. You’d opened up to Spencer about a few unconventional fantasies of yours. Of course, he never would've thought of them on his own. He gave them an opportunity, and it was for the best. Tears streamed down your face, and Spencer cooed, dabbing them away unhurriedly. They stained your face prettily. You could hardly see how Spencer was smiling at you, due to your hazy eyesight.

“Are you with me, angel?” he murmured against your cheek, pressing kisses to your warm skin. His trail of pecks halted there. Evidence of his moist kisses perceptible from your hips up to where your tears had been moments before.

You simply hummed in response, your eyes fluttered shut as a deep puff left your parted lips. “Hurting,” you whispered, your voice breaking desperately, to which he giggled. Tease. An undeniably delightful tease.

“Half an hour ago I asked if you wanted me to stop.” He should've known better than to overstimulate you in such a manner, but he strived to please. Indeed, he’d done that tonight, and he couldn't be more proud of himself.

“I didn’t say I regretted it or anything.” You turned your head to him, incapable of moving your whole body. Your eyes flapped open and met with the view of Spencer’s disheveled hair and his face adorned with your faint lipstick marks.

“You were crying.” He emphasizes additionally by wiping a stray tear he’d somehow missed.

“Ever heard of masochism?” A grin managed to sneak onto your face. Even in the most savory pain, you couldn't hold in that sarcasm that’d settled into your heart as a love language.

“Mm, no, what’s that?” He smiled innocently, even after all he’d done this night, as he leaned in to kiss your lips. Your soft lips, which he constantly doted on. Watching as you talked was one of his favorite pastimes. Though he was used to being the prattler in the relationship, he most definitely didn't mind listening to you ramble.

“Whatever it is, I think I like it.” He kept up his act of feigning innocence, which elicited soft chuckles from you.

“Y’know, Spence, I think that's called dacryphilia, specifically. Not sadism in this case,” you murmured matter-of-factly, stealing his mannerisms.

“I think you've been reading too many of my case files, angel,” he raised an eyebrow at your comment, “or you're far kinkier than I've reckoned.”

You try your best to shift a bit of your weight onto him without causing yourself any pain. Instead, you feel Spencer’s hefty hands lift you up gently, placing you on top of him, to which you immediately relax.

“The latter,” you concede with a giggle, kissing his bare chest.

“Well, I can't call you angel anymore, can I?” He teased, as per usual. You shook your head in response.

[change-name-later]

*cracks my knuckles*. May I add to this argument? I love your take and I wanna add my own. Rotom Roserade (That just looks like something he'd have, I'm just saying) Mimikyu (Or Phantump. Take your pick. Either one works) Malamar Mr. Mime Kadabra

Bonus+ Puzzles probably always wanted to get himself a Jirachi. But could never get to the places distributing them for events in time/never heard about them until it was too late. So he feels both bitter and longing for it.

hi i am a pokemon girlie (gender neutral). chatot + mime jr + pikachu + jigglypuff + wobbuffet + metagross. if he's a basic bitch his ace is jigglypuff and if he's not it's chatot

Didn't you already give Jukex chatot, my two boys can't have chatot at once smh DGJGDK